Yeager looked around. There weren’t any Lizards close by—just a couple of guards at the door. But the Race was bound to have bugged the area. He would have, in the Lizards’ place. Any edge you could get was better than none. He said, “Come on back up to my room, gentlemen, if you’d be so kind.” The Lizards had bugs there, too. The difference was, those bugs didn’t work—Sam didn’t think they did, anyhow.
“What’s up?” Tom asked. Yeager only shrugged, pointed at a wall, and tapped his own ear. The Lizards could have all the bugs they wanted down here, but they wouldn’t get everything that was going on.
De la Rosa and Coffey certainly knew what Sam was saying. They kept on hashing out the blown call—or maybe the good call, if you believed Tom—all the way up the elevator. By the time they got off, Sam found himself wishing he’d seen the play. He wondered if people back on Earth were still arguing about it, too.
But everyone’s manner changed when the three of them got back to the hotel room. “What’s up?” de la Rosa asked again, this time in a much less casual tone of voice.
Before answering, Sam checked the bug sniffer. Only after he saw everything was green did he ask what was on his mind: “Which is better, a treaty that doesn’t give us everything we ought to have or a fight to make sure we get it?”
“Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?” Frank Coffey quoted.
De la Rosa grinned at him. “You’re a lot of things, Major, but I’ll be damned if I can see you as a melancholy Dane.”
“You’re right—I’m too cheerful,” Coffey said. De la Rosa and Yeager both made faces at him.
“It’s a serious question, though.” Sam got back to business. “It looks more and more as if the Lizards aren’t going to give us full equality all over the Empire. So what do we do about that? Do we settle for something less, or do we go to war and blow everything to hell and gone?”
“Can’t very well phone home for instructions, can you?” de la Rosa said.
“Not unless I want to go back into cold sleep till the answer comes in twenty-odd years from now,” Yeager answered. “And there’s not much point to sending out an ambassador if you’re going to do it all by radio, is there?”
“You’re the man on the spot,” Coffey agreed. “In the end, it all comes down to you.”
Sam knew that. He wished Frank Coffey hadn’t put it so baldly. He wished the Doctor had revived. He wished for all sorts of things he wouldn’t get. The weight lay on his shoulders. He was responsible for billions of lives scattered among four different species. Nobody since the Emperor who’d sent the conquest fleet to Earth had borne that kind of burden—and the Lizard hadn’t known he bore it.
“If we accept an inferior treaty now, maybe we can get it fixed when we’re stronger,” Tom said. “We’re getting stronger all the time, too.”
“Other side of that coin is, maybe the Lizards will think they have a precedent for holding us down,” Coffey said. “What are your orders, Ambassador?”
He was a military man. To him, orders were Holy Writ. Sam had lived in that world for a long time. He understood it, but he didn’t feel bound by it, not any more. He said, “The first thing my orders are is out of date. Tom said it: I can’t phone home. I’m the man on the spot. If my orders tell me to insist on complete equality no matter what and I see that means war, I’m going to think long and hard before I follow them.”
“Are you saying you won’t follow them?” Coffey asked. That was a dangerous question. If he saw somebody wantonly disobeying orders . . . well, who could guess what he might do?
“No, I’m not saying I won’t follow them,” Yeager answered carefully. “But war on this scale is something nobody’s ever imagined, not even the people who were around when the conquest fleet landed.” He was one of those people. There were a few more up on the Admiral Peary. Back on Earth? Only the oldest of the old, and even they would have been children back then.
A good many Lizards who’d been active then were still around. That wasn’t just on account of cold sleep, either. They lasted longer than people did. But did they understand what they might be setting in motion? Sam didn’t think so.
“What will make up your mind, one way or the other?” Frank Coffey didn’t want to let it alone. He was capable. He was dutiful. He made Sam want to kick him in the teeth.
Still picking his words with care, Sam said, “If they say, ‘You have to do it our way, or we’ll go to war with you right now,’ I don’t see that I have any choice. We let them know we’ll fight. You can’t let them get away with that kind of threat. If they think they can, they’ll own us.”
“No doubt about that,” Coffey said. Tom de la Rosa nodded.
“Okay,” Sam said. “But if they say something like, ‘We want to stay peaceful, but this is the only kind of treaty we can accept,’ that may be a different story. Then it might be a better idea to say, ‘Well, we’re not real happy with this, but we’ll make the deal for now,’ and figure our grandchildren can finish picking the Lizards’ pockets.”
“I like that, or most of me does,” Tom said. “It won’t stop the ecological damage, but a lot of that’s already done.”
Coffey stayed dubious. “I don’t want them thinking they can push us around at all. They’re like anybody else who’s got power and wants more: give ’em an inch and they’ll take a mile. And who knows who’ll be doing the pushing around fifty years from now, or a hundred and fifty?”
“It hasn’t come to ultimatums yet,” Yeager said. “I’m still hoping it doesn’t.”
“But you wouldn’t have warned the Admiral Peary if you weren’t worried,” Major Coffey said. “I know you, Ambassador. You wouldn’t give Lieutenant General Healey the time of day if you weren’t worried.” He was too obviously right to make that worth denying. When Sam didn’t say anything, Coffey asked his question again: “What are your orders?”
They weren’t Sam’s. They were intended for the Doctor. He would have had no qualms about carrying them out. Yeager was sure of that. “Basically, to ensure our freedom and independence,” he answered. “That’s what this is all about. Past the basics, I’ve got a lot of discretion. I have to. The home office is a hell of a long way from here.”
“You’re right about that,” Tom said.
“Sure are,” Frank Coffey said. “But you don’t get anywhere against oppression by bowing down and saying, ‘Thank you,’ to the fellow with the bullwhip. No offense, Ambassador, but that just doesn’t work.” Sam would have been happier had he thought the black man was wrong.
When the phone hissed for attention, Atvar had just come out of the shower. That was a smaller problem for a member of the Race than it would have been for a wild Big Ugly; he didn’t need to worry about decking himself with wrappings before he went to answer. But it was an annoyance even so.
Shaking a last couple of drops of water off the end of his snout, he sat down in front of the monitor and let the camera pick up his image. “This is Atvar. I greet you,” he said.
“And I greet you, Fleetlord.”
The face on the screen made Atvar hiss in surprise. “Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, and began to fold into the special posture of respect reserved for the Emperor.
“Never mind that,” the 37th Emperor Risson said, holding up a hand. “We have serious matters to discuss.”
Atvar made the affirmative gesture. “As always, your Majesty, I am at your service.”
“Good,” Risson said. “How seriously do you take this new report from Senior Researcher Ttomalss and the physicists he has recruited?”
“Seriously enough to pass it on in the hope that your eye turrets would move across it,” Atvar answered. “I cannot fully comment on the quality of the research. There I have to rely on the scholars involved. But, by their reputations, they are first-rate males and female
s.”
“Yes.” Risson used the affirmative gesture, too. “This being so, what they say is probably right. What do we do about that?”
“I think perhaps you should ask the physicists and not me,” Atvar said. “My own view is, we push ahead with this research as hard as we can. The Big Uglies already have a considerable start on us.”
“That is also a truth.” Risson used the same gesture again. “How likely is it, in your opinion, that we will be able to catch up?”
There was an interesting question—so interesting, Atvar almost wished the Emperor hadn’t asked it. The Race had had a head start on the Tosevites in technology. It didn’t any more. The Big Uglies moved faster than the Race did. If they had found something new and the Race had to make up lost ground . . .
The Emperor deserved the truth. Indeed, he required the truth. With a sigh, Atvar answered, “While it may not be impossible, I do not believe it will be easy, either. We are more sensible than they are, but without a doubt they are more nimble.”
“I was hoping you would tell me something else,” Risson said with a sigh of his own. “Your view closely matches those of my other advisers. This being so, our view of negotiations with the American Big Uglies necessarily changes, too, would you not agree?”
“I would,” Atvar said. “I have begun to take a less compromising line with Sam Yeager. We are likely to be stronger now than in the future. Any bargains we make should reflect our current strength.”
“Good. Very good. Again, I agree,” Risson said. “I also wonder how much the Big Uglies here know about the research back on their own planet. Our monitoring has not picked up much in the way of information on it coming from the wild Tosevites on their home planet. Speculation is that Tosevite leaders know we are listening to their transmissions and do not wish to give us any data they do not have to.”
“That strikes me as reasonable,” Atvar said. “I wish it did not, but it does. The Tosevites are more accustomed to secrecy than we are. They have internal rivalries the likes of which we have not known since before Home was unified.”
“So I am given to understand.” The 37th Emperor Risson sighed again. “You know I want peace with the Big Uglies. Who could not, when war would prove so destructive?” He waited. As far as Atvar was concerned, agreement there was automatic. The Emperor went on, “But if war should become necessary, better war when we are stronger than when we are weaker.”
“Just so, your Majesty—thus the harder line,” Atvar replied. “I do not relish it. Who could? But better on our terms than on the Tosevites’ terms. So far, Sam Yeager has been intransigent when it comes to the Americans’ demands. If we cannot get what we require by other means, shall we proceed to whatever forceful steps prove necessary?”
“War is only a last resort,” Risson said. “Always, war is only a last resort. But if it becomes necessary . . .”
“They will have some warning,” Atvar warned. “When the signals from their own ship fall silent, they will know something has gone wrong.”
“Why should those signals fall silent?” the Emperor asked. “We can continue with negotiations here as always. If the Big Uglies in our solar system fail to detect the outgoing signals, then we have many years before any come back here from Tosev 3 to alert them. Is that not a truth?”
Before answering, Atvar had to stop and think that over. Once he had, he bent not into the special posture of respect that applied to the Emperor alone but into the more general posture one gave not only to superiors but also to anyone who said something extraordinarily clever. “I do believe that would serve, your Majesty . . . provided the Big Uglies do not learn about the scheme ahead of time.”
“How likely are they to do so?” Risson asked.
“I am not certain. No one is quite certain,” Atvar replied. “I would suggest, though, that you do not mention this any more when calling me here. Tosevite electronics are good enough to keep us from monitoring their conversations in their rooms and most of their conversations with their starship. How well they can monitor ours is unknown, but we should exercise caution.”
“What they have here can defeat our electronics?” Risson said. Atvar made the affirmative gesture. The Emperor went on with his own thought: “What they have on Tosev 3 will be more advanced than what they have here?”
“That is also bound to be a truth, your Majesty,” Atvar agreed. “Our technology is stable. Theirs advances by leaps and bounds. This is, no doubt, one of the reasons why they have the arrogance to believe themselves our equals.”
“Indeed,” Risson said. “And it is one of the reasons we should strike first, if we must strike. If they get too far ahead of us, we have no hope of fighting them successfully. Again, you know I would rather have peace.”
“I do, your Majesty.” Atvar’s emphatic cough showed how well he knew it.
“And yet my first duty is to preserve the Empire and the Race,” Risson continued. “If the only way I can do that is through a preventive war, then I must consider one, no matter how distasteful I find it. If we ever reach a position where the wild Big Uglies can dictate the terms of engagement to us, we are lost.”
“Another truth,” Atvar said. “When I administered our lands on Tosev 3, I often contemplated preventive war against the Tosevites. I always held off on launching it, both in the hope that we would be able to live peacefully alongside them and out of fear for the damage such a war would have caused even then. Perhaps I was wrong to hold back.”
“Perhaps you were, Fleetlord,” Risson said. “But it is too late to dwell on that now. We have to make the best of the present situation, and to make sure the future is not worse than the present.”
“Just so, your Majesty,” Atvar said.
“If these physicists prove to know what they are talking about, we have less time to make up our minds than I wish we did,” the Emperor said. “I will do everything in my power to drive our research efforts forward. I am not a scientist, though. All I can offer is moral suasion.”
Atvar made the negative gesture. “No, your Majesty, there is one thing more, and something much more important.”
“Oh? And that is?”
“Funding.”
Risson laughed, though Atvar hadn’t been joking. “Yes, Fleetlord, that is bound to be a truth, and an important one, as you say. Believe me, the appropriate ministries will hear that this is a project of the highest priority. It will go forward.”
“I am glad to hear it, your Majesty,” Atvar said. Risson said a few polite good-byes, then broke the connection. Atvar stared thoughtfully at the monitor. The Emperor was worrying about the new developments, which was good. Atvar still wondered how much difference it would make. The Big Uglies had a lead, and they moved faster than the Race. How likely was it that the Race could catch up? Not very, Atvar feared. Which meant . . .
“Which means trouble,” the fleetlord muttered. Like the 37th Emperor Risson, he vastly preferred peace. Unlike his sovereign, he’d seen war and its aftermath at first hand, not just as signals sent across the light-years. More war now would be dreadful—but more war later might be worse.
One of his eye turrets swung toward the ceiling. Somewhere up there, out past all the stories above him, the Tosevite starship spun through space. When the conquest fleet first came to Tosev 3, the Big Uglies hadn’t been able to fly out of their stratosphere. Two generations before that, they’d had no powered flight at all. And now they were here.
Their nuclear weapons were here, too. If it was possible to keep the wild Big Uglies on that ship from finding out the Race had gone to war against the United States, that might save Home some nasty punishment. Or, on the other hand, it might not. Something might go wrong, in which case the starship would strike the Race’s home planet. The Big Uglies might launch other starships, too. For that matter, they might already have launched them. There was one of Atvar’s nightmares.
Signals flew faster than ships between the stars. That had been true ever since the
Race first sent a probe to the Rabotevs’ system, and remained true today. Atvar hoped he would have heard if more Tosevite ships were on the way. He hoped, but he wasn’t sure. The Race could keep the American starship here from knowing an attack order had gone out. Back in the Tosevite system, the Big Uglies might be able to keep the Race from learning they’d launched ships. Because they’d been cheating one another for as long as they’d been more or less civilized, they were more practiced at all forms of trickery than the Race was.
And what was going on in their physics laboratories? How long before abstract experiments turned into routine engineering? Could the Big Uglies turn these experiments into engineering at all? Could anyone?
We’ll find out, Atvar thought. He laughed. Before leaving for Tosev 3, he’d been used to knowing how things worked, what everything’s place was—and everyone’s, too. It wasn’t like that any more. It never would be again, not till the last Big Uglies had been firmly incorporated into the Empire—and maybe not even then.
Atvar made the negative gesture. One other possibility could also bring back order. It might return when the last Big Uglies died. It might—if the Tosevites didn’t take the Race (to say nothing of the Rabotevs and Hallessi) down with them.
They would do their best. The fleetlord was sure of that. How good their best might be . . . As Atvar did so often in his dealings with the Big Uglies, he trembled between hope and fear. More often than not, the Race’s hopes about Tosev 3 had proved unjustified. The Race’s fears . . .
He wished that hadn’t occurred to him.
Karen Yeager wondered why Major Coffey had called all the Americans on the surface of Home to his room. He’d never done that before. He was the expert here on matters military. If he had something to say, he usually said it to Karen’s father-in-law. What was so important that everyone needed to hear it?
At least Kassquit wasn’t here. Karen had half wondered if she would be. In that case, Frank Coffey wouldn’t have been talking about military affairs, but about his own. Could he have been foolish enough to ask Kassquit to marry him? People far from home did strange things, and no one had ever been farther from home than the people who’d flown on the Admiral Peary. Even so—
Homeward Bound Page 50
